


Unexpected Gifts

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-22
Updated: 2003-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1635317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trio of ficlets featuring true love and happy endings for a trio of couples.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Grey Bard

 

 

Happy holidays, Grey Bard! 

In my family there's a Christmas tradition of giving three gifts to our loved ones, in remembrance of the three gifts the wise men brought to the baby Jesus. So, for your Yuletide Treasure story, I've written you three little ficlets. I sincerely hope you enjoy them! 

* 

**9,000 COMEDIANS OUT OF WORK AND YOU WANT TO BE ONE**

Bel sat up and stared as Miles entered its cabin and approached its bed, his eyes hungrily sweeping over Bel's form. They were supposed to be preparing for a mission, Bel knew, but if Miles thought they had time for this, Bel certainly wasn't going to argue the point. Not when this was something it had wanted for so long. 

Miles fell upon Bel, pressing it back against the pillows in a passionate kiss that stole Bel's breath away. Bel melted into the kiss with a moan of delight. 

And then Miles was behind it, too, and Bel had forgotten how lovely it could be to share a bed with two lovers, how well four hands could pleasure a hermaphrodite's many erogenous zones. But Bel was distressed to realize that it couldn't tell Miles from his clone. At first it was sure Miles was the one in front, cupping Bel's breasts and pinching its nipples. But then it seemed certain Miles was the one behind, pressing against its buttocks, slipping a hand between its legs. 

Bel tried to spread its legs wider, but the sheets were tangled around its legs, and its lacy silk nightgown was twisted around its chest and it tried to tell Miles that it couldn't breathe, but there just wasn't enough air.... 

Bel jerked awake, gasping. Its lungs ached, and it immediately began coughing. 

"Bel! Bel, wake up!" Nicol hovered close in the dim light, holding a bubble of liquid. Bel took it from her with a shaking hand and thirstily swallowed, grimacing at the faint medicinal bitterness lacing the cool water. 

"Are you all right?" She smoothed back the hair sticking to Bel's sweaty forehead. 

"I'm okay," it said, its voice ragged. She frowned, unconvinced. "I was just having a dream and somehow I lost my breath," it assured her, tugging her into its arms, already beginning to breathe easier. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wrapping her arms around it and snuggling close. "I'm just worried about..." She drew her head back and looked at Bel, her eyebrows raised. "Well, now! This is a promising new development." She curled one of her lower hands around Bel's erection. "Just exactly what were you dreaming about?" 

Bel coughed. "You, of course." 

"And that would be why you were saying, 'Miles, Miles,'" Nicol said, imitating Bel's breathless gasps. "You liar! Come on, tell me!" 

Bel grinned. "Miles. And his clone. Brother." 

"Really?" She smiled, surprised. "I'm guessing it wasn't the dream where he gets shot, then." 

"No, no shooting in this dream. Not weapons, anyway," it added with a snicker. 

"You don't have to avoid talking about him, you know." Nicol tilted her head. "I know you loved him first. Even after all those years, I could see it hadn't gone away." 

"I did love him--do love him, but it's not..." Bel shook its head. "Not like you," it whispered, dead serious. Bel stroked her fine hair and then slid its fingertips along the curves of her face, "It's so different. You let me love you. And you love me back." 

"Yes," she affirmed with a smile. 

"Just exactly the way I am." 

"Oh yes." Her smile widened into a grin as she gave Bel another squeeze with her lower hand. "Especially the way you are now." 

Bel groaned and rolled its eyes. 

"So, are you, ah," she paused as she pulled Bel's t-shirt over its head and flung it away. She fixed Bel with mischievous blue eyes. "Feeling up to it?" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. 

Bel grinned. "It's a good thing you're a musician, you know; you'd have starved trying to make a living as a comedian." 

"Hmmm." She frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps we'd better wait until I can send a message to the haut ladies asking when it would be advisable for you to resume sexual relations..." 

"No, no, I'm fine!" Bel said, laughing and tugging at the belt of her short silky robe. "I'm up for it, I promise." 

"Oh, I don't know." She shook her head, maintaining her mock-doubtful expression, even though she let Bel do away with her robe. 

"You are the funniest woman alive. I can't believe you're wasting all that comedic talent on music." 

"Oh, don't think you'll sway me with pretty talk," she said, her lips twitching as she struggled not to smile. Bel quickly pulled her into a kiss. 

Bel's body responded in a gratifying way, for the first time since the nightmare with Miles and the Ba, and Bel had been so close to losing it all. It clutched Nicol tighter, the light, teasing kiss turning into something needy and fearful and desperate. 

Long, breathless minutes later, Nicol drew back to look at Bel, all humor gone from her face. "Nicol," Bel began, reaching to pull her back. 

"Shhh." She laid a finger against Bel's lips. "Just...relax. Lie back and let me..." 

And with a feeling of happiness bordering on bliss, Bel obeyed. 

* 

**SUGAR AND SPICE**

It was her first Emperor's birthday, and Olivia had worn her new blue dress, the one Mama said matched her eyes. She'd thought she looked quite elegant and sophisticated while reviewing her reflection at home, but, finding herself next to Lady Donna Vorrutyer at the buffet table, Olivia felt awfully young and provincial. 

Lady Donna was so sexy, with her lush curves and flashing dark eyes and sophisticated, low-cut gown. Flouting tradition, she'd worn a flower in her hair, but, rather than the halo of tiny blossoms worn by most of the young ladies, Lady Donna's hair was drawn back into a dramatic knot and studded with one large, fragrant white bloom. 

Olivia tried to be polite, but she really couldn't help staring. All the men stared at Lady Donna, after all; why shouldn't she? Olivia picked at the delicacies on offer, blindly filling her plate as she watched Lady Donna from the corner of her eye. What might it be like to hug her, Olivia wondered. Would Donna's soft, yielding curves feel like hugging her mother or one of her sisters? Or would it be something different, and more exciting? 

Olivia looked around, sure that everyone was staring and whispering, could see her wicked thoughts written all over her face, but she and Donna were alone at the table, and, but for the three matrons whispering intently among themselves at the window, might just as well have been alone in the room. 

Olivia looked back at Lady Donna. Her skin glowed pale in the light from the candelabras, and Olivia wondered what Donna would look like if she let down her thick, black hair, letting it fall loose over her bare shoulders. 

Silver tongs hovering over a tray of canapes, Olivia let her gaze wander over Donna's chest, down to the tops of her breasts. Was her skin as warm and silky smooth as it looked? It was no wonder men were so fascinated with breasts, Olivia thought. Her own were certainly a source of fascination to her -- so soft, just barely filling her palm, and the feelings that came from touching her nipples! 

Caught up in her thoughts, Olivia didn't see that she and Donna were both reaching for the same ladle of sauce until their hands bumped together. Olivia froze with embarrassment, sure that she had offended, but Lady Donna looked straight at Olivia, her voluptuous lips curved into a warm smile. 

"I certainly hope you're thinking about me, because if not, I'm going to be one jealous man." 

Startled, Olivia opened her eyes and giggled at Dono as she stretched. "I was thinking about you. Well...sort of." 

"Sort of?" 

"It was about you and me, but you back when you were Lady Donna." Olivia brushed her hair out of her eyes. 

"Really?" Dono rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. "Tell me!" 

"Well, remember the Emperor's Birthday...oh, what was it? Four, five years ago? We were filling our plates in one of the little side rooms, and you were wearing that white dress with the gold embroidery, remember?" 

"Oh yes!" Dono grinned. "You were wearing blue, and the flowers in your hair kept dangling loose and threatening to fall." 

"It's because my hair's so straight," Olivia said with a sigh. 

"I do seem to recall you were fascinated with my dress," Dono added. 

"You looked so beautiful that night! And you were so nice to me! For ages after I wished I was dark and curvy and not so darned tall!" 

Dono lay back against the pillow, surveying Olivia through half-closed eyes. "I wish I'd known you were thinking such thoughts, you naughty girl." 

"Well, I was trying to behave in the face of temptation." 

"Temptation!" 

"Oh, Dono, you know Lady Donna was gorgeous!" Olivia giggled. "What would you have done if you'd known?" 

"Mmmm. Maybe dragged you off into a quiet corner and kissed you senseless." 

"Oh, can you imagine if we'd been caught?" Olivia bit her lip, captivated by the very idea. 

"You know," Dono said thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "The beard was just one way to look as masculine as I could for the counts; I'm not all that attached to it." 

"You'd spook 'em all to death if you shaved it," said Olivia. "You'd look so much like your old self." 

Dono smiled wickedly. "I could get a long wig, put on some lipstick..." 

"Not for the Counts!" 

"No, silly, for you." Dono smoothed his palm over his chest. "Nothing to be done about these, though," he said ruefully. 

"Do you miss them?" Olivia asked. She rolled onto her side, facing Dono and propping her head on her hand in imitation of his pose. "Do you miss being Donna?" 

"No. So far the rewards far outweigh the losses." He took Olivia's free hand and laced their fingers together. "What about you? Do you miss her?" 

Olivia shook her head. "No. But...were you serious about the wig and the lipstick?" 

"If you like." Dono's eyes sparkled. 

Olivia grinned. 

* 

**PORT**

Pym, carrying two glasses of wine toward the table where his wife waited, approached and raised an eyebrow at Roic. He'd obviously seen it all. 

Roic's face was hot, and he knew he was blushing; he smothered a groan of frustration. Damn Byerly Vorrutyer, with his suggestive comments and appreciative sidelong glances and blatantly flirtatious smiles that even Roic, inexperienced as he was, could not misunderstand. 

"He only does it to get a rise out of you," Pym murmured. 

"I know," Roic said. "But I can't stop m'damn face from going all red. I'm going out for some air," he added, just as Pym was opening his mouth to speak, effectively forestalling any further advice. Pym nodded and continued on to his wife. 

Head down, Roic made his way through the crowd and out into the garden. Vorrutyer liked women, he reminded himself. And even if his tastes were a bit more...eclectic...than the average Vor, he was only teasing Roic. He loved to shock and outrage; Pym and Jankowski had both told him so after his first encounter with the man. 

It was cold comfort to be the butt of a joke, but better that than his secret fear, which was that Vorrutyer somehow knew. That he sensed the secret that Roic himself only half-acknowledged, and even then, only when he was safely alone in his bed. 

The path he was wandering led to a small, ivy-covered gazebo, the entrance outlined with a climbing vine of luminous white flowers. No doubt there were benches inside; it would be a perfect place for him to duck away for a bit and collect himself. 

It was also, Roic realized, a perfect place for a pair of lovebirds to hide from prying eyes, and he coughed a few times and deliberately scuffed his feet as he approached to give anyone inside the opportunity to warn him away. 

"Well, well. Armsman Roic. If I didn't know better I'd think you were following me." 

Roic's heart sank and he felt his face flaming again as he ducked inside the gazebo, where Vorrutyer himself lounged with a crystal goblet in one hand and a bottle of something dusty and expensive looking in the other. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to disturb you. I just came out for a little air," Roic said stiffly. 

Vorrutyer peered at Roic over the rim of the glass as he took a healthy swallow. "Well, there's plenty of air here, if you'd care to join me for a drink," he finally said. 

Roic was drawn, despite himself, wondering what it might be like to talk to Vorrutyer without a roomful of people watching him blush. "What are you drinking?" 

"Port." 

Roic settled onto a bench. 

"I'm afraid there's only one glass." 

"I can go get another," Roic offered, standing up again. 

"No, no. Don't go." Vorrutyer said. "One of us can drink from the bottle. Or we could simply share the one glass." 

Roic could see Vorrutyer's arch expression in the faint light that fell through the door, and was determined that the man would not get the better of him. He cleared his throat. "Sharing would be fine," he said. 

"Very good." Vorrutyer filled the glass and held it out to Roic; their fingers touched as he took it. 

And so they passed the glass back and forth, and Roic found that talking alone with Byerly Vorrutyer was surprisingly pleasant when there wasn't an audience of amused bystanders to worry about; the man's scurrilous commentary had made Roic laugh out loud more than once. 

Things took an awkward turn, however, when Vorrutyer asked, "Why aren't you inside dancing with one of those lovely Vor buds I've seen sighing over you?" 

Roic tensed unhappily and took a large swallow of wine. "I don't like to dance." 'With women,' his brain added in a whisper. 

"No?" Vorrutyer asked, surprised. 

"I'm...not a very good dancer," Roic muttered. 

"You just need practice," Vorrutyer said decisively. He took the glass from Roic and gulped the remaining wine, then carefully set it down. "Come on, I'll show you." 

"What?" Roic snorted. "How much of this stuff have you had?" 

Vorrutyer hauled himself to his feet. "Come on, Armsman. I'll play the lady." He cast Roic a seductive look through his eyelashes. 

"I don't think this is a good idea," Roic said, shaking his head. 

"Nonsense. I'm a fabulous dancer; ask anybody." 

Roic laughed and, seized with some wild recklessness, stood up and assumed the position he'd been taught. Vorrutyer stepped close, into his arms. "Now," Vorrutyer said, "shall I sing?" He began to hum the opening bars of a popular and wretchedly maudlin love song. 

"No! Stop!" Roic laughed. "I can hear t' music from inside. That will do fine, see?" He began to lead Vorrutyer in the practiced steps. 

"Spoilsport. I'll have you know I'm a fabulous singer. You can ask anybody." 

"I'm sure you are, but...well, it wouldn't be very discreet, now would it?" Roic continued to sway in time with the faint music, acutely aware of the fine fabric of Vorrutyer's suit under his fingertips. Of Vorrutyer's elegant hand, cool and dry, lightly resting in his own. 

"No, I suppose not," Vorrutyer said, pursing his lips in a most enticing way. "But it would be in character." Vorrutyer tilted his head back and smiled at Roic. The quirky little smile curved his lips just so, and he was so close that Roic would only have to lean forward the slightest little bit.... 

But in the end it was Vorrutyer who moved the necessary few inches, lifting his chin and moving close to press his lips against Roic's. 

It really wasn't all that different from the girls he'd kissed, Roic thought with surprise. Lips and tongue and warm breath were common to both sexes, after all. And even though Vorrutyer's lanky body was plastered against Roic's own, the layers of clothing that lay between them muted any real sense of Vorrutyer's masculinity. 

But Roic's brain knew, even if his body didn't, that it was another man he was kissing and his heart pounded with the a combination of terror and excitement. 

Roic had no idea what might have happened had the fireworks display not started, scaring him half to death and dousing him with a shocking bucket of cold reality. After that things were rather awkward, but, thankfully Vorrutyer let him go with nothing more than a rather sardonic good-bye. 

Roic had expected that Vorrutyer would continue playing the same old game, and when he didn't, Roic told himself that he was relieved that Vorrutyer no longer made a point of speaking to him on the occasions they happened to meet. Pym, who always noticed things like that, commented that his advice to Roic to ignore Vorrutyer's teasing had finally paid off. But Pym, of course, didn't know about what had happened in the gazebo. Roic was more inclined to believe that the 'torment' had stopped because Vorrutyer felt he had made his point: He'd been right about Roic all along, and he'd proven it. At least Roic could be grateful that Vorrutyer hadn't trumpeted the knowledge all over town. 

As the times when they naturally crossed paths weren't really all that frequent, time passed, and Roic didn't see or hear news of Vorrutyer. Roic often thought about that night, that kiss, how it had felt to have Byerly Vorrutyer in his arms...what might have happened if the fireworks hadn't started...or if they'd been alone that night somewhere more secure than an open gazebo in the Emperor's garden. And Roic often wondered what he might have done differently, for, embarrassing as it was at the time, he found he actually missed Vorrutyer's flirtatious attention. Missed his wickedly funny comments and the way his dark eyes seemed to drink Roic in, as if he were the most wonderful thing Vorrutyer had seen in an age. 

In retrospect it seemed crazy, but it had honestly never occurred to Roic that he might approach Vorrutyer himself until after he'd returned from Lord and Lady Vorkosigan's near-disastrous honeymoon trip. Roic rather thought that a man didn't go through something like that without being changed. He certainly seemed different. He felt different. His thoughts were different. Barrayar was the same, but Roic himself had changed. 

Once seized with the idea, Roic's first thought was to find the man at once, but he quickly discarded that idea. This was Barrayar, after all, and discretion was vital. He would simply have to wait until their paths crossed again and then he would... Well, he certainly couldn't do what he wanted to do, which was immediately grab him and see if his kisses were still as brain-meltingly divine as Roic remembered. 

No, he would have to be discreet. Vorrutyer would understand. The question really was whether Vorrutyer still harbored any feelings of attraction for Roic, he acknowledged with a nervous pang. Any approach could result in a very painful rejection; Roic cringed inwardly at the thought, but reminded himself that Vorrutyer had braved Roic's own pretended indifference and repressive frowns again and again. Surely he could afford to risk himself just once. 

His moment finally came when Roic learned that Byerly Vorrutyer had somehow wrangled an invitation to Lord and Lady Vorkosigan's new babies' naming party. Caught up in details with Ma Kosti, Roic was late in attending to the arriving guests. By the time he'd secured a tray of glasses and entered the Library, Vorrutyer was already there, hovering over his cousin's shoulder as Count Dono and his Countess cooed over one of the babies. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, Roic headed toward the group. Countess Olivia took a glass from the tray, and the Count looked up from tickling the baby long enough to shake his head, and give Roic a rather too knowing smile. Vorrutyer himself had drifted over to a corner bookcase to inspect an atlas that lay open on a small stand. 

His face was probably getting red again, but Roic didn't care, dammit. Heart pounding, he carried the tray to Vorrutyer. "Wine, sir?" he asked. He hadn't been this close to Vorrutyer since that night, and the man looked wonderful. Roic swallowed, then added very softly, "Or, would you prefer some Port instead?" 

Vorrutyer's eyes gleamed. "I'm afraid I've sworn off Port," he said with a wry smile. "It has been known to lead me to a most regrettable lack of self-control." 

"Really?" Roic asked, schooling his face to a neutral expression, "that's a shame. In my experience it leads to wonderful things." He paused. "Although, maybe it's t' sort of thing you'd want for an evening alone with a friend." 

Vorrutyer casually leaned against the table. "I'm afraid some of my friends simply don't care for it. Wouldn't you say it's a waste to offer something that isn't wanted?" 

"I think...maybe...Port is something you have to learn to appreciate." Roic cleared his throat. "At least, that's t' way it worked for me." 

Vorrutyer gave him a quirky, ironic smile. "Perhaps when you have some time off we could discuss it further?" 

Roic smiled. "I'd like that." He took a glass of wine from his tray and handed it to Vorrutyer; cool fingertips deliberately brushed Roic's hand as Vorrutyer took the glass. Roic's smile widened. "Very much," he added. 

Before he could hide it behind his glass, Roic saw that Byerly Vorrutyer's little half smile had became something genuine and beautiful, and as Roic discreetly moved on with his tray, he felt as if he were flying. 

* 

 


End file.
